


Annis the Warden

by Ginger_kitty



Series: Annis [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Depression, F/F, F/M, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-12-24 21:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_kitty/pseuds/Ginger_kitty
Summary: Betrayed by her friend and the First Enchanter, Annis is banished from the Circle, an apostate in all but name, handed to the Grey Wardens for the remainder of what promises to be a very short life.  But she can't bring herself to care.  Surrounded by death, she will bring an end to the Blight, not to save the world, just to save the small group of outcasts and criminals that have become her family.





	1. Ostagar

They travelled in silence: walking; camping; cooking; bathing, not one word between them. She had no words left in her anyway, nothing she wanted or needed to say, refusing to hide from herself behind mindless prattle to a complete stranger. Instead she watched the world as she walked, enjoying the sights, sounds and smells that surrounded her, touching leaves and petals, watching animals and birds, reveling in her freedom. Circle mage no longer, she was an apostate, one who had only survived execution by being claimed as a different type of sacrifice. She had no doubt both Irving and  Greagoir would be thrilled at the thought of her dying beneath a darkspawn’s blade. She couldn’t care less about the Knight-Commander but Irving’s betrayal truly stung. She had tricked a friend, lied and stolen for the First Enchanter and he threw her to the wolves without a second thought. 

The whole situation had been a fuck up from the start, Jowan and his brainless bitch of an initiate and their fucked-up scheme to destroy his phylactery and escape to a life straight out of a romance with no thought for consequences. She had no idea why he came to her, why he thought that she, who had handed over Meera’s baby out of duty and so doing killed the love of her life, would give a shit about him and his petty love story and his pointy-faced priestess. He walked away from them both and then wanted her to risk everything for him. Going to Irving, getting a small amount of revenge on the Chantry, getting revenge on him for leaving them, it was so simple. And then it turned out he was a blood mage, after swearing blind he would never do such a thing, and in her  stupidity she shielded everyone from his magic. She knocked herself unconscious saving a man who instantly demanded her execution and one who gave her up with barely a protest. She should have let the full force of the blast hit them, let it disintegrate them all, added her own magic to it and destroyed that fucking prison and everyone in it. Instead, she took the thin lifeline the Grey Warden threw her and left, walking away from the past 10 years of her life with no regrets. All she owned in the world was her staff and ring, a handful of coins and a bundle of scrolls she had stolen from the repository.

They were met by the King and his guard,  Annis carefully making the right responses to the preening, vainglorious man whose gold chased  armour belonged on a parade ground, not on a battlefield where it would weigh him down. She did the same with Duncan. She couldn’t care less about what was going on about her, or petty rituals to initiate her into the wardens, she had enough of that with the Harrowing, she couldn’t bring herself to give a shit about whatever she had to go through to join a new club. As she walked through the  camp she saw the area where the mages gathered, saw Wynne standing, looking around, looking for her she was sure. She gave the area a wide berth, having no wish to endure her  mentors sanctimonious lectures. Their close relationship, easy evenings after a strenuous shift, drinking tea and eating cakes and discussing what she had learned, all that had disappeared when Meera died. Wynne talked about duty, about the inevitability of death and rising above personal pain to serve those in need.  Annis told her to fuck off and walked away with the woman staring, wide-mouthed, at her back. They hadn’t spoken since and today was not going to be the day.

She avoided the infirmary area too, hiding from the groans and moans of injured soldiers, unfortunately bumping into a giant, pompous idiot who was apparently one of the other recruits. She met the other beside the  quartermasters store, a weaselly, lecherous man. She took great delight in telling him she would freeze off his  favourite part if he even looked at her the wrong way, seeing him draw back in fear at the hate in her eyes. She wandered up the ramp to where she would apparently find “Alistair”, the Grey Warden she was supposed to be looking for. At the top she saw a man in  armour , harassing a mage on behalf of the Revered Mother, his anger and contempt obvious in his tone. The mage brushed past her and the man turned, showing her his face. The world stopped.

His eyes were amber, his hair dark gold with a tinge of red to it, he towered above her the way he had always done, that frown never aimed at her but at those around them. Her knees went weak as he looked at her and gave that soft, lop-sided smile, saying, “Isn’t it wonderful how the Blight brings people together?” She smiled back, her face feeling strange in a shape she hadn’t made for months now and took a step towards him, hand starting to reach out to the one person in the world she still cared for. He looked down at her hand and stepped forward, shaking it, a look of polite interest on his face.

“I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Alistair. Please tell me you’re not another mage?” She stops, looking at him and seeing no recognition. He didn’t know who she was. They had grown up together, twins in everything but blood, she would know him anywhere, but he didn’t know her. Her heart sank as she took in the blush as he  realised she wore mage robes, the platitudes he gave a stranger he didn’t want to offend, someone he would be working with but otherwise had no connection. Her heart breaking, she pulled her shell back around her, glad she hadn’t made a fool of herself and gave the same easy platitudes she had given the king.

But she couldn’t avoid her curiosity. He stopped writing to her when they were ten, apparently because the  Arl had packed him off to the Chantry, who had decided he should become a Templar of all things! She couldn’t help the step back she took, no wonder he didn’t  recognise her, he had probably been desperate to forget her, forget the mage foster-sister, hope no one ever mentioned her and embarrassed him among his Templar friends. For a single moment, she had thought there might be something left in this world for her, the everything else had been taken away so she could find her Caro, her dear one again. What a stupid, selfish, damned bitch she was, Maker cursed and hated, there was nothing in this world for her, only endless battle and a gruesome death. As she prepared to head into the wilds, she squashed anything in her that still cared, and went out to destroy darkspawn.


	2. Joining

  
She looked peaceful. She was sleeping now, the Joining technically over her body needed rest to adjust. Alistair watched over her in a tradition as old as the Wardens themselves, a promise that no new brother or sister would wake from that terrible rite of passage alone. Duncan had left to ensure the bodies were disposed of properly. He glanced briefly at the two men who might have been his brothers. He dismissed Jory, the man had been a coward and a burden in the wilds; an awesome fighter, he had punctuated every waking moment with complaints. Daveth had been different, lecherous and light fingered in camp, Duncan had asked Alistair to ensure there were no ‘incidents’ with their female recruit. But in the wilds he had been brave, loyal, treating the mage with nothing but respect and lightening the gloom that Jory cast. Alistair would have been happy to call him brother.

As he watched her sleep, he mused on how many red-heads Fereldan produced. In every other country it was a rarity, here he couldn’t turn around without seeing it and every time he looked for a glimpse of hos sister and was disappointed. He hadn’t heard from her in 8 years, when he wrote that he had been sent to the Chantry there had been no reply. He kept sending her letters, hoping that she would relent, but there had been silence. He had hoped she would know the Chantry and the Templars were not his idea, that he had had no more say than she had in going to the Circle, but the silence had spoken louder than any words. Still he looked for her in every red-headed woman he saw.

Annis looked nothing like his Mia, gaunt and angular where she had been plump, sunken, hollow eyes where hers had been large and bright. Her skin had the pallor of a scholar and she must be ten years older than him. But he hoped she knew Mia, even just knew of her, surely the Circle wasn’t that big and his lively, mischievous twin wouldn’t fade into the background anywhere. He wondered if she had been punished with kitchen duty as often as he, if silence had made her sing loudly in the beautiful flute-like voice he had missed so much. Once she had time to adjust, after the battle, he would ask if she knew Mia, beg for any stories she could share. He couldn’t approach the other mages, every interaction with them was torturous, but they had worked well together in the wilds and, in spite of the distance she had put between them when he had admitted his templar training (and who could blame her) they had talked easily to each other.

The bodies were taken away and he was left with the sleeping mage before he touched the chalice beside her. Slipping the pendant from his pouch, he drained the dregs of the chalice into the tiny vial. On a whim, he pricked his finger with the point of his dagger and let a drop of his blood fall into the mixture of lyrium, darkspawn blood and the drops from the three recruits and Duncan. The pendant was hers, but it held a piece of them all and he wanted to be part of that too. She was starting to stir, so he summoned Duncan and they waited together to greet their new sister.


	3. Talking to the Horde

_ She stood in the middle of an army. Undisciplined and violent, there was constant, shifting movement, but they did not step from their lines; fear of the great God above them kept them in place. She was one of them, shifting, yearning for red blood on her lips, tender flesh between her teeth, holding still only for fear of the Old One, waiting to be set free to raven and destroy. And then, Urthemiel spoke…  _

She woke screaming, drenched in sweat. Slim arms surrounded her while a soft, lilting voice whispered words she didn't understand in her ear; ginger hair brushing her cheek as the embrace gently tightened and she was drawn to rest her head on Leliana's shoulder. Screams turned to sobs, huge and shuddering, all the horror of being one of  _ them _ , bursting floodgates that had been groaning under years of strain until she couldn't stop the tears pouring down her cheeks, milking the pain from her heart and soul. 

It seemed like hours later that the sobs became quiet whimpers, her body lax with exhaustion and release. Gentle hands had held her the entire time, endearments and soothing strokes drawing the poison from her until she slipped back into sleep. 

_______

Alistair watched from his bedroll. They had no tents to pitch, Lothering had none to spare. He had watched her toss and turn, knowing the first nightmares were the worst, at least until the Calling. Should he go over? Would she welcome someone to talk to, someone who knew what she was going through? He knew she was annoyed at him, the easy camaraderie of their journey through the wilds had disappeared as he dumped this whole mess on her shoulders, lost to grief. He'd been told all his life that he was unfit to lead, he was a follower, a doer, not a thinker. Only Duncan had thought differently, but six months of encouragement couldn't undo years of being told everything he was not. Perhaps six months was not really enough for the man to know what Alistair was capable of, and now he never would. Far better to give Duncan’s place to her, the proven leader, strong under pressure instead of bowing beneath it with grief. 

When the screaming started he jumped up, but Leliana was already there. He watched as she petted and soothed Annis, as the mage clung to her and screams turned to deep heartfelt sobs filled with all the pain in the world. He watched as she finally settled, nestled against Leliana, looking so young and vulnerable, clinging to her in sleep like a child against her mother. Leliana looked up at him as he brought over extra blankets to cover them both, placing a finger on his lips when it seemed she would speak. Then he lay back down and tried to get back to sleep.

  
  


_______

She woke up with a start, head pounding, feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. There had been dreams, terrible dreams in which she had been one of the darkspawn, part of the horde. Then, she thought, a soft voice had chased the dreams away with warmth, but she still had not rested easy.

Everyone was bustling about the camp, Sten was collecting their gear together and distributing it through the packs they had, Leliana was at the fire trying to eke out a handful of oats to breakfast for five people. Morrigan had bartered some trinkets they had taken off the bandits and darkspawn for the oats and a bone for the Mabari they had saved two days ago. And Leliana had brought a little food with her which she had gladly shared, but it all added up to meagre pickings. Annis had noticed that the merchant and his son had followed them, camping a little bit away, and hoped they would have things to trade but travelling merchants usually only carried food for themselves. The other one, Dryden, had dragged a promise to help out of her and then left, presumably to wait for them at Soldier’s Peak. She looked across the camp and noticed Alistair frowning at her.

“Bad dreams, huh?” She nodded, embarrassed that she had disturbed him. "The archdemon, it "talks" to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight." The light emphasis on 'feel' and a quick look at their companions told her what she already knew. No one would want to know Grey Wardens dreamed of  _ being  _ darkspawn. 

He stared at her with a slight frown, as if he wanted to say more. She knew nothing about the Grey Wardens and she wanted to learn. Staring back she realised she wanted to learn about him, about the life her Caro had without her. She wanted him to know that she was his Mia, just to know, with no expectations of him acknowledging a mage. She opened her mouth to tell him, just as a hawk swooped into the camp and landed as Morrigan. When she looked back at him he was already standing, “Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too.” The moment had passed, but she was sure it would come again, so she left it and promised herself she would tell him, later.

She decided to walk with Leliana today. Alistair and Sten had started discussing the pros and cons of single and double-handed weapons and even just overhearing it was boring, and Morrigan had offered to scout ahead in her hawk form. Annis suspected she was just ‘peopled out’ and needed some space but it was still a good idea. They were heading in the general direction of Redcliffe, since it was close, but no definite decision had been made yet. The Arl’s illness meant he probably wouldn’t be all that useful and they might skirt the edge of Lake Calenhad and head for the Circle first. Hopefully, Morrigan could pick up on anything that might decide them one way or another. Leliana was an unknown factor in it all and Annis was hoping to fill in some of the gaps. Beside which, if Sten said once more about her youth, inexperience, or the impossibility of a woman fighting, she might just strip naked and send a lightning bolt right up his arse. Alistair might respect the Qunari as a fighter but Annis had developed a deep antipathy to him, not at all feeling guilty at wishing she had just left him to the darkspawn.

________

“So...?” Leliana jumped slightly, she hadn’t heard Annis coming up behind her. She had told her of the vision last night, and of the single rose blooming in the Chantry garden. She was grateful the mage hadn’t mocked her, had understood that the darkness, the all-encompassing night she had thrown herself into, was more than just a dream of fears realised, it was instruction for the Maker, to follow His champion. And who could he have meant but the woman before her, delicate and beautiful, full of thorn and fire, a living rose. She had felt the energy and passion in her slight body as she held her through her nightmare. For a moment she had thought that Alistair would come forward to claim her from her arms, but he had sweetly covered them both with blankets and went back to his bedroll, watching them both until they had sunk into sleep, wrapped in each other. As soon as she had awoken, Leliana had extricated herself. She didn’t know how Annis would react to waking in a woman’s arms, a woman who had known her barely a day and was already completely infatuated with her, a woman who must have seemed utterly insane when she insisted on joining them for a vision.

“Yes?”

“What would someone like you be doing in Lothering’s Chantry?” She stiffened at the phrasing.

“What is meant by ‘someone like me?”

Annis realised she had probably offended the lay sister and groaned.

“I’m sorry, I think putting ones foot in ones mouth is a contagious disease Alistair has that he’s passed to me.” She looked fondly across at the man before bringing her attention back to Leliana. “What I meant to say is, what is a beautiful, charming woman who can fight like a trained warrior and has the voice of a nightingale doing in a tiny Chantry in a backwater village in muddy south Fereldan?” Leliana flushed. She intended to tell Annis about finding peace, becoming a sister, nothing more than that, but as the day went on she found herself opening up more and more, telling her about her life (or some of it at least, some things were not for sharing) and some of her favourite tales and songs. Annis drank it all in, sharing stories she loved, picking up far to quickly on things Leliana had not said as well as those she did. They talked about Orlais as well, Leliana’s homesickness obvious as she talked about Val Royeaux and it’s amazing sights, until eventually it was time to make camp. They even bonded over shoes, although Annis’ last comment resounded in Leliana’s head well into the night.

“A beautiful woman will be beautiful anyway. Like you.”


	4. The Spoiled Princess

They were heading to the tower. There wasn't much point going to Redcliffe while the Arl was sick and if there was a cure the only person who might know where to find it was in Denerim. Going the North Road they could take the treaty to the tower and move on to Denerim via Soldier’s Peak, hopefully with as little interaction with the First Enchanter as possible. Annis considered staying at the Spoiled Princess and letting Alistair deal with the mages while she had a long bath and stuffed herself silly. Perhaps Morrigan and Sten could go with him and she could investigate the far more interesting question of how serious Leliana's flirting really was? 

The archer seemed sweet and innocent, not generally what Annis looked for in a lover, but she had been an Orlesian bard so she definitely wasn't innocent and she suspected the sweet image came more from her delicate, lilting voice and graceful features because her words during battle and around the campfire were not sweet at all - until she sang. Annis had taken to calling her Nightingale. At the Tower she had loved to perch beside a window and listen to the nightingales sing, the heavy scent of night flowers and the birds delicate calls soothing her after a day of studying, training or working in the infirmary. Now it was battles, the strain of responsibility or the endless nightmares that furrowed her brow and left knots in her back, and her Nightingale soothing her with lilting song and gentle fingers on her temples. After watching Alistair toss and turn and scream himself awake she had decided that neither of them should sleep alone. Sten had point blank refused and Morrigan and Alistair hated each other, leaving only Leliana willing to help. For the moment the three slept beside each other, in easy reach if nightmares struck, but the lack of tents and Alistair's presence meant sleeping was all that happened and if Annis woke often in Leliana's arms, she woke just as often in Alistair's. There were still nightmares but close proximity to each other and Leliana seemed to take the edge off them, allowing the whole camp to sleep more easily. 

She shied away from thoughts of Alistair. She still hadn't spoken to him about their past. Staring at the Tower as they skirted the lake she became more anxious and irritated. After all, he had stopped writing to her, she had sent letter after letter, waiting for replies that never came. She didn't owe him anything. 

The other problem was that she couldn't help noticing his broad shoulders, the grace in his movements, the strength and safety of his arms when they awoke entangled, seeking comfort from their nightmares. He always blushed and moved away as quickly as he could, far quicker than from Leliana's embrace. The first morning he had apologised profusely for the erection pressing into her leg and although she had been far more interested in the size of it she reassured him with the most dispassionate lecture on hormone levels until he relaxed. He obviously had no interest in her beyond her taking the weight of leadership from him, but she was finding it increasingly hard to remember they had been raised together, had thought of each other as siblings. Besides, if she tried to flirt with him he would probably die of fright or embarrassment and a blushing chantry boy was not her style, no matter how broad his shoulders or large his cock.

She shook her head, irritated with her rambling brain, it was all an excuse to avoid the real problem. Tomorrow she could be facing the men who had cast her out, named her blood mage by association and made her an apostate. She had no more qualms about working for the Mages Collective than she did the Irregulars or anyone else who would pay, the Circle had taken her from her family, wrung everything it could from her then abandoned her. Part of her wanted to face Greagoir and Irving, make them acknowledge her and submit to her command under the treaty. The part of her that still mourned her home just wanted to hide in the inn and let Alistair deal with it all. She didn't want to see a tranquil Jowan, assuming they hadn't just executed him, or find out if Wynne had survived Ostagar, or see the place where Meera had been brought out of the lake, her body bloated, beautiful face eaten away by fish and crabs. The Tower was a prison and a torture chamber, a hell that took children and destroyed them for being born with magic. Wynne had tried to show her the Tower as a sanctuary from a world that hated them, a place to share their gifts and knowledge with each other in peace. But her peace had ended when she had failed to keep Meera beside her, failed to protect her from her violators, handed her baby to the Chantry and finally failed to save her life. She had failed Jowan too, her misery driving him away, ignoring the fear that led him to blood magic. Anders had spent a year in a dark cell and she had avoided him after, embarrassed that he caught her cutting her skin, too wound up in Meera to even ask her mentor, her friend, how he was coping, to help him purge himself of a year in silence. Failure, failure, failure; self-absorbed vanity and selfishness. Even now she tried to spare herself pain by avoiding the place where she had failed so many people so miserably. 

As they approached the docks, Annis made sure they took the time to question the local scavengers about Sten's lost sword. She dealt with a Blackstone deserter, too preoccupied with the Tower looming over them to register his cryptic words. She listened as Alistair negotiated with the innkeeper for two rooms. Sten had refused to set foot in the inn, camping outside with Dane. She heard the story of the inn's name for about the tenth time. Finally, she settled on the bed with an exhausted sigh. Group dynamics aside (Morrigan and Alistair loathing each other), there wasn’t enough room in either room for three people so with a smug look on her beautiful face Morrigan suggested the two Grey Wardens share, saying that at least Leliana might get a full night’s sleep for once. As much as she agreed that Leliana was starting to look as exhausted as the Wardens, the way Morrigan went about things grated on her. And yet, she liked the woman, lack of social skills and all. Living with a fruitcake of a mother who also happened to be a centuries old abomination couldn't have been easy. At least her parents had been loving and affectionate, until her magic manifested. She closed her eyes, sinking into the soft mattress and thought of her life before the Circle, the smell of horses and hay, the rustle of silks, the sounds of children at play, and she drifted into the Fade. 

______

She jerked almost-awake as the door slammed open and ice crackled round her fingers, ready to be thrown at an attacker. She relaxed and banished the ice when she realised Alistair had almost fallen through the door, barely avoiding dropping a tray piled with food that smelled delicious after days of charred game and occasional roots. 

"Sorry, sorry! I, ah, I lost control of the door a bit. Did I wake you? I brought you some supper, sorry. I'll just shut up now." 

Every time she thought he couldn't blush brighter he managed it, even his ears were bright pink. He turned away to put the tray on the low table. Still half asleep and caught in dreams of childhood she said, as she always had,

“De nada, Caro.”

He froze, dropping the tray on the table, as she came all the way awake, her eyes wide, body frozen as she waited for his reaction. Slowly Alistair straightened and turned to look at her. His face was completely blank and for a moment she felt fear surge through her as if he might lash out at her. He spoke quietly, tonelessly,

“What did you say?”

Annis closed her eyes. She hadn’t felt fear like this since the day she was taken to the Tower. She began to shake. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around herself, chilled by his icy look. He continued, his voice harsh, ice turning to fire that burned her to the bone without warming her at all. 

“I never told you I had a sister. I was raised at Redcliffe, but not by the Arl, not really. I was fostered, I had parents, two older brothers, and a sister who was born on the same day as me. They weren’t blood but they were my family. My sister went to the Tower when we were eight. Every month we wrote to each other, until I was ten, until I was sent to the Chantry. For years I wrote every month and she never answered another letter. I told her I was going to become a Templar so I could join her and we would never be apart again. She still never answered."

She couldn't breathe. No, that wasn't how it happened. She wrote, she begged him to reply, she prayed to a Maker she no longer believed in that he hadn't abandoned her too. 

"I've been wanting to ask you about her, if you knew her. I kept putting it off, so much was happening, and then… Ostagar, and… When you told Morrigan how few mages actually survive I was terrified. I thought she had died and no one cared enough to tell me. But you didn't die, did you, Mia? You just didn't want me any more. Was a brother in the Chantry, as a Templar, too embarrassing for you? Or were your new friends just more interesting? Did you even think about me, even for a second, trapped in that place. I spent more time locked in a cell than I did at my lessons, going mad with missing you, my other half, and you couldn't even write a letter!"

He was shouting now, blushing pink changed to furious red as he loomed over her. Her chest was so tight, she couldn't get a breath, even as she tensed against the blow she thought would come, part of her wishing for a physical hurt, pain that would clean away the gaping hole in her heart. Failure again, nothing but failure, her entire life was a wasteland of collateral damage. He had been locked away, like Anders, and she had not been there. Like Jowan he had given himself to darkness, not blood magic but the Templars, to be controlled by lyrium, locked in a prison and given power over hated victims, corruption inevitable. She hadn't been there, hadn't saved him. He had been saved by the same person who rescued her from execution or tranquillity, only to curse them with a different darkness, a collar tighter than lyrium, a prison of endless nightmares, freed only by death. 

Wrapped in misery, she didn't hear him leave. 


	5. Breaking the Circle

Smoothing heavy robes down over skin still tingling from slicing and healing repeatedly over the long night, Annis felt calm, centred. She brushed her hair and twisted it into the usual bun before settling her Warden pendant openly over her robes. She would enter the Tower with her head held high and remind them who she was - a harrowed mage, one of the most powerful in decades, a Grey Warden, apart and above them. She would never let Greagoir or Irving see what the past month had cost her, she was not one of them. She would demand their acquiescence to the treaty and they would bow to the Blight if not to her. She smiled darkly at herself in the mirror, one way or another she would make them bow. 

First, she had to deal with Alistair. If only she could decide how to do that? Last night she had sat there and done nothing, said nothing, neither to console nor confront. She had spent hours thinking, clearing her mind and examining the options. Someone had been keeping them apart. It was unlikely to have been The Circle since the letters only stopped when Alistair was sent to the Chantry. So either the Arl or the Grand Cleric had decided their correspondence was inappropriate. Why, she no idea, two random ten year olds writing to each other hardly warranted such interference, years before he had even been chosen for templar training. Her eyes narrowed, something else had been going on and she would get to the bottom of it, someone's agenda had been served by taking the most important person in her life from her, and she from him, and one day that someone would pay. It could wait till the Blight was dealt with, but one day there would be a reckoning. 

For now, she would face Alistair, apologise for not telling him the truth sooner and hope he forgave her. Then they could deal with the Tower and move on to Denerim. She had some questions for the Arl of Redcliffe and he needed to be well to answer them. 

Finally, she noticed the tray lying where Alistair had left it. The stew was cold, fat congealing on its surface, so she grabbed the bread and cheese lying at the side, nibbling on them as she headed to the common room. None of her companions were there, the barmaid told her they had left early, so she checked all monies had been paid and headed to where Sten had planned to set camp. 

By the time she got to the camp her frown had returned. Sten crouched feeding a small fire but no one else was in sight. He straightened as she approached, looking at her with more than his usual disapproval. He handed her a note and walked away. 

_ Annis, we've gone to the Tower. Rest today, we'll talk later. Alistair.  _

Feeling slightly disgruntled after all her mental preparation, she took off the robes covering her linen tunic and leggings and went to help clean carcasses with Sten. Then she gathered herbs and set potions brewing. Then she persuaded Sten to spar with her, using her staff as a bo, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling of a storm coming while the day ebbed. Eventually they decided the others had been persuaded to stay the night in the Tower. They ate jerky and talked quietly and Annis discovered the Qunari had an understated sense of humour and a very sweet tooth. Of them all, she had been least inclined to speak to him, unable to understand or forgive the murders he had committed, merely waiting for his execution to be carried out in a way that was useful to her. But when nightmares dragged her from sleep she was grateful for his awkward embrace. 

The morning was no better, her hands shook and she jumped at every sound. There was no sign of Alistair, Leliana or Morrigan and the longer they stayed away the more worried she became. By noon she stood at the water's edge, staring at the Tower, sharp nails scraping across her forearms as she hugged herself, waiting for something to happen, trying to convince herself nothing would. Then it came, a screaming surge of mana as the Veil itself split. 

__________

Greagoir paced the hall, age lines deepened, eyes sunk into his head with exhaustion and grief, everything he and Irving had worked for crumbling around him. The Rite of Annulment had been sent for, all but a handful of templars and mages trapped behind solid metal doors. Everyone there had felt the surge and his last hopes of the Grey Warden saving them were given up as he consigned his charges to the Maker. 

He felt the world shudder around him and shouted orders to those who could still stand. They stood between the massive doors and the injured, ready to fight to the end for the lost Tower. And so they stood, every one facing the wrong way, when Annis blew the entryway apart and stepped into the hall.

“Where are they?” He was stunned, completely out of position as his mind tried to grasp this new threat. 

“Where are they?” She was dead. She had died at Ostagar. Irving and he had drank a toast, to all the dead but especially to her. She should have been Irving’s successor, that bright, talented, blessed child who had entranced mage and templar alike, until life in the Circle twisted her, almost destroyed her.

“Where are they?” They thought they were saving her. Pledge her to the Grey Wardens, get her away while they cleansed the Circle, bring her back when the Blight was over, convinced the Wardens would let her go once they were no longer needed. And now, the Circle was in ruins, templar and mage bewitched or destroyed, and she stood before him, hate in her eyes, lightning a lethal halo around her, demanding word of those he now knew were dead. He closed his eyes and waited for death to take him too.

“Where are they?” Her voice was cold, smooth, burning like ice. Carroll stepped forward, pointing to the doors, stammering out an explanation, that they had gone in to secure the Tower, that they would only exit with the First Enchanter, or assurances that everyone within was dead. He opened his eyes, watching her glide closer, voice as soft and sultry as a lover’s but filling him with dread, not lust.

“If they are dead, Greagoir, I will break this tower, and every person within it, and you will be last.”

With that she was gone, door closing behind her, sealing her into a nightmare of demons and abominations.

______________

She stalked through the levels, finding dead bodies and debris in every room. The only survivors thus far were the children huddled with Petra and Kinnon, barely more than children themselves, trapped between Wynne’s barrier and the doors the fucking templars hid behind. She felt no relief that Wynne had survived Ostagar, she was probably dead somewhere ahead of her, lying with Alistair, Leliana, Morrigan, sightless eyes and broken bodies waiting for her, to show her how truly useless she was. She would find them, and then she would kill every living thing in this place, before returning to Greagoir and showing him what she thought of the care the templars took of their charges.

Without Alistair, there was no hope of defeating the Blight. She would return to the Wilds and take down as many darkspawn as she could. She didn't need another 30 years anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon? What canon?


	6. The Litany

Adrenaline and anger could only sustain her so far before exhaustion crept up. She had been awake for most of the past 48 hours, scared witless since the wild burst that ripped the Veil. Floor after floor of empty halls and dead bodies, so many faces she recognised, until finally she opened a door and saw her friends lying on the floor like puppets whose strings had been cut. Towering over them, a grotesque abomination stood, surrounded by twists of energy as he drank in their life force, savouring the power they gave him. The blast of lightning from her staff partially severed the connection and as she summoned waves of flame he looked at her and grinned. Reality twisted and her flames hit a mage, burning him to ash as the demon abandoned him and slipped into the Fade. Screaming her rage, she reached for the energy he still drew from the bodies on the floor and stepping over the charred bones of the maleficar, she ripped open the Veil and strode through.

To enter the Fade in control was a gift only mages possessed. Some could utilise the power to almost slide along the Veil, appearing in a different place, and although it was called Fade Stepping one did not truly step into the Fade. Annis had done the unthinkable, something only possible because of the damage done to the Veil, she was in the Fade in body and her senses struggled to deal with the fluctuating reality. She recognised Niall, he had been one of her tutors, a known face although not a friend. With his help she penetrated the secrets of Sloth’s fantasy land, learning to use the Fade in new ways. She fought and killed endlessly, twisted and turned on herself, stomach twisting as she struggled to maintain a physical hold in the dream world, refusing to bow to her bodies demands to leave, absorbing every bit of lyrium she could find. She found Wynne, and Leliana, and Morrigan, destroying the demons who tried to hold them under Sloth’s sway, and then lost them again as they disappeared into the Fade, and still she could not find her Caro. Constant use of magic, constant intake of pure lyrium, moving through island after island of horrors, only one thought in her head kept her moving.

When she found him, the world stopped. He stood, surrounded by demons disguised as a sharp featured woman and numerous children. Morrigan had been angry, Wynne grieving, Leliana full of doubt. But Alistair looked happy.

Persuading him to see reality, breaking his illusion of family, of love and acceptance, broke her heart. She was his sister, not that imaginary shrew and her bevy of rugrats. Her parents had raised him, not a dead mother or absentee father, and certainly not Eamon and his bitch of a wife. But seeing him so happy, at peace, wanted for himself; even though it was illusion, her heart bled. She took that anguish and channelled it into lightning and flame, facing Sloth beside them she burned through every shape the demon took and when it lay dead and her friends began to wake up, she sliced the Veil and stepped back through.  
_________________

She had thought she was done, that she had nothing left to give. Fighting all the way to the top of the Tower, she offered Wynne the Litany of Adralla, promising to wait for them, promising Alistair and Leliana that she would rest while they dealt with Uldred and retrieved Irving. She couldn’t care less, she had them back, everyone else could fuck themselves. Whether they presented Geagoir with Irving alive or dead meant nothing to her. Until they found the templar caged outside the chamber.

She knew him, Cullen, polite, kind. He had turned Meera down when she asked him to dance, blushing bright red and rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He had been at her Harrowing, and again when she was banished. But the things he was saying? He had known her, had watched her, apparently lusted after her. And demons had used that against him, tortured him with visions of her, violated his mind and used her image to do it. And in spite of that he still resisted. When every other templar had fled or succumbed, he knelt and prayed and held to himself. Rage flared anew and she swore to him that they would pay. Only this time, she would make sure it happened. She would save him, destroy his abusers, do what she couldn’t do for Meera.

She entered the chamber, leaving Wynne outside to help Cullen if the barrier came down. She didn’t bother listening to Uldred’s meandering justifications, instead watching his acolytes and their targets, the other mages. She thought of Geagoir, and the Rite of Annulment. If she didn’t present Irving, alive, Geagoir would have everyone within the Tower killed, the children, Petra, Kinnon, maybe Cullen too if he could not prove himself free of demonic influence. To save them all, Irving had to live. But only Irving.

She used the Litany sparingly, feigning tiredness, clumsiness, even incompetence, so that as each mage gave in and became an abomination they were cut down. Finally only Irving and Uldred lived and she shot a spear of ice directly into Uldred’s brain. As he fell, Alistair swung his sword and Uldred’s head sailed across the room. She turned and left, leaving the others to escort Irving back to the entrance hall.


	7. Nightingale

At first there was only pain.

Elfroot is astringent, embrium is sweet, lotus flowers are fruity with undertones of the water they grew in.

Sounds came occasionally, background noise of clatter, movement, whispered words, fading in and out, making no sense to overwhelmed nerves, a brain unable to process up, down, out, in, could not make sense of syllables hissing together.

Sharp pain comes in waves, soothing and controlled. Dull pain won’t go away, sand left under the tide, aching, burning, pulling her under to drown.

Gentle strokes across her brow, small, soft hands, with rough edges, large, calloused hands. Experienced hands move aching limbs, change soiled linen. Screams would hurt too much, only whimpers.

Liquid, dripping down parched throat, meaty, fruity, empty, twisted stomach rebelling.

Nightingales sing outside her window, she has listened to them for hours on end, soothing the tatters of her soul. They sing in a human voice, soft and lilting, lullabies and songs of lovers. They smooth the ridges of pain, she sighs and turns towards the moon, as the moon sings on and on and soothes her to sleep.

_____________

She’s in the infirmary. The sounds and smells are so familiar to her. She’s been ill, she knows that, but the pain is gone and her mind is clear. Soft hands soothe her head, as they have done for hours, days, weeks? Leliana hums quietly, an Antivan lullaby her mother used to sing. She relaxes until she hears other voices, raised and angry, familiar voices.

“She tore the Veil, ripped it apart so much it’s taken senior mages days to stabilise it even a little! You say she travelled the Fade, learning skill after skill. Who taught her? What did she bring back?”

“She saved your arses, and ours. Everyone in this Maker-forsaken Tower would be dead right now if it weren’t for her!”

“And how many are dead because of her? You heard Irving, every single mage in that room died, all except the one she needed to get out.”

“And yet, she let the Templar go. To kill mages and free a templar, when she could easily have let him die too. ‘Tis a strange thing for an abomination to choose, is it not?”

“I suggest you keep out of this,  Apostate…”

“Enough! Morrigan is under the protection of the Grey Wardens. And, by the way, also saved your arses.”

“I have no need for protection against skirted bully-boys and their chained cattle…”

“ Morrigan!”

Thankfully, their voices faded into the distance and Annis breathed a sigh of relief. Leliana’s voice was far less grating on her ears.

“Travelling the Fade confused all your senses. Adrenaline probably kept you going but halfway down the Tower you collapsed. Wynne calls it sensory distortion and lyrium shock. We were so worried,  ma Chere .”

Annis leaned into Leliana’s hand, turning to press a kiss to her palm. “Thank you for singing to me” she murmured as she fell back to sleep.

_____________

It took three days for Annis to recover fully. Even then she felt as weak as a kitten although she refused to show it as mages and templars alike gathered to bid their heroes goodbye. Irving pledged to honour the treaty while Greagoir scowled suspiciously at her. When she caught Cullen’s glance he flinched as if she had struck him and she turned and left before anyone saw the tears in her eyes.

When they reached camp there were a barrage of questions from Sten. The notes they had sent had been short, scrutinised by the Knight-Commander for any ‘inappropriate details’ and the Qunari had not been impressed when he had been refused transport by the bearers of those notes. Alistair filled him in on the details while the women helped Annis to her tent. For some reason, Wynne had decided to come with them. Too numb to think of anything, Annis acquiesced, promising herself she would avoid the older woman like the Blight. She had no wish to be told every fault and selfishness when she knew all of them very well. Thankfully, Morrigan hustled Wynne out of the tent as soon as Annis was settled on her bedroll, informing her in no uncertain terms that her services were not required. When the flap settled behind the disgruntled mage, Morrigan smiled at Annis and held out her hand. Warming red light spread towards her, soothing a hundred little aches and pains. She hadn’t realised Morrigan had picked up some healing along the way but she was very grateful for it. With a shallow bow, the witch followed Wynne out into the camp, leaving Annis and Leliana alone.

Leliana lay down beside Annis, wrapping her arms around her as she did when the nightmares hit. Annis rested her head against a soft shoulder, smelling leather and soap and a scent that was just Leliana.

“Talk to me,” she whispered, her lilting, Orlesian accent soothing and enticing. Annis started speaking. She told her about growing up with Alistair, her Caro; about going to the Tower and finding out in a letter from Alistair that her father had died and her mother and brothers had gone back to Antiva. She told her about Meera and Jowan, how she loved them, how she seduced them then neglected them and finally how she chose the Circle over them both, betraying those closest to her until one was dead, the other running for his life from templars. She told her about the clarity and peace the sharp pain of a knife brought, and how she refined healing in a way no one ever had. She told how meeting Alistair again had been the happiest moment in her life and how fear of rejection soured it, her cowardice punishing him as well as her.

Leliana listened in silence, holding Annis gently, tears running down her cheeks. Slowly, she offered up her own past, her years as a spy, an assassin, sowing chaos for profit but also for the love of it, never counting how many lives she ruined with her vicious games. She told her how it ended, tortured in a cell in Denerim, escaping only to find her friends body broken on a rack, betrayed by her mentor, her lover. How she fled to the Chantry, seeking forgiveness but also to hide from the world around, not trusting herself, fearing she loved the hunt, the kill, even the humiliation too much be allowed to move freely in the world. She would not be caged, but she had caged herself.

As the two women spoke, soothing hands stroking backs and arms slowed, no longer consoling but caressing, moving across cheeks, down spines, each touch becoming more intense and voices grew quiet and green eyes met blue. Leliana moved first, leaning in slowly, allowing Annis to move away if she wished, until their lips met, gently melting together, Annis’ mouth opening to Leliana’s, her tongue flickering out, tasting the other womans mouth, sucking lightly on her lower lip, making it swell and redden. She moved slowly back, drawing Leliana on top of her, hands gently flowing over leather armour and bare skin, unclasping buckles to release the jerkin and sliding her hands under the soft cotton shirt and up to her small, firm breasts. She waited, barely breathing, waiting for a reaction, for permission. Leliana moved her kisses from her mouth, trailing down her neck before raising herself slightly. Entranced, Annis watched as Leliana pulled off jerkin and shirt, untying her breastband, exposing herself slowly, that mysterious smile on her face as Annis leaned up on her elbows, tongue flickering against her lips as the band disappeared entirely, leaving only pale skin tipped with pink.

There was no hurry, only lazy, indulgent kisses and caresses. Fingers and lips exploring each other slowly and softly, both needing skin to skin contact to soothe tired, damaged souls. Leliana's body was slender and willowy, small tits and narrow hips, hard muscles, especially in her shoulders and back, an archer's body with archers calluses on her delicate hands. Annis' hands were smooth, her figure hardened by travel but still soft and amply curved, large, high, pillowy breasts, narrow waist flaring out to wide hips and soft full arse and thighs, silky skin over new firmness of muscle. Leliana combed her fingers through Annis' long hair, eyes closed as she straddled those wide hips and felt soft lips kissing, sucking, nipping her tits. Gentle hands pushed her down onto her back, loosening leggings, pushing smallclothes aside, one finger sliding through silky moisture, exploring, circling and stroking gently. Mouth followed fingers, sucking, licking, penetrating, bringing her higher and higher, her own hands pulling and tugging on her nipples, reality giving way to pure sensation rippling through her until she came, soaking the talented mouth and fingers, soft cries calling her name. 

They lay, tired, happy, kisses becoming more languid until they sank into sleep, together


	8. Explanations

She stopped to look around the campsite. Irving might suspect her of being a murderous bitch, but he had made sure they had everything they needed. Everyone had a tent and bedroll and they had about a months worth of food, extra potions and poultices and she had a new staff and robes, more powerful than her last.

Their camp was in a clearing off the road. A river wound sluggishly just out of sight, forming pools perfect for swimming and washing clothes that had been worn for far too long. It was beautiful and peaceful and exactly what they all needed after the last few days.

“We’ll stay here at least tomorrow, maybe the day after. It should be secure enough.” She turned and stared at Alistair.

“What?” That made no sense. “We need to push on, we lost so much time, we can’t afford to just sit around enjoying the view.”

He frowned at her, “That’s exactly what we need to do. We need a break, a full days rest. The four of us still have wounds and aches from the Tower and you’re barely on your feet after one day of slow travel. We need…”

“I’m fine! Don’t try to make this about me. You set the pace today and a 95 year old would have gone faster.”

“You are not fine. You’re white as a sheet and can barely stay on your feet. You need rest and you need it away from that place. I can still feel those broken ribs even though they’ve been healed and Morrigan and Leliana are moving like that 95 year old. You’re being ridiculous.”

She threw her arms up in frustration, gesticulating wildly as she spoke, a mannerism from her Antivan mother that only appeared when she was truly agitated. “I’m ridiculous? Fuck you, Alistair. In case you hadn’t noticed, the whole fucking world is falling apart and I’m ridiculous for wanting to try to get on with fixing it while there’s still something left to fix? I’ll tell you what; you can stay here and look at scenery and complain about your sore ribs. I’m leaving in the morning, alone if I have to, and you can go fuck yourself.”

She stalked towards the river, muttering to herself, hands waving in furious agitation. They couldn’t stop. She couldn’t be this weak. There was no time for this! At the rivers edge she stripped, everything falling to the ground in a heap while she threw herself into the river, almost screaming at the bitter cold of the water. She swam briskly, trying to warm herself with movement, ducking under to soak her long, crimson hair. She had some rosemary in a pouch in her robe and she rubbed herself down with the sprigs. She collected some dry sticks and piled them with the rosemary, a flick of her wrist kindling a fire that smelled of safety and remembrance. When her skin was dry she slipped smallclothes, shirt and leggings back on, leaving the heavy robes till she was ready to return to her tent. She combed her fingers through her hair, wishing she had been able to find a comb, and left it loose to dry. Then she just sat, thinking about everything and nothing, watching the lazy swirls of water, hearing the flames crackle, while the smell of the burning herb drew memories that made her smile and cry.

_______

She heard the soft footsteps behind her but couldn’t be bothered pulling her eyes from the flames. She should feel bad, falling back into that pattern; throwing a tantrum then making people come to her, she knew she should be a better person than that, but really, she didn’t give a shit. She would lean into Leliana, accept her soothing kisses and caresses and see if she could push her for more, out here beside the lake. Then she would go back and make peace with Alistair, never directly apologising but letting him think she had, and she would hate herself just a little bit more for it. But what did it matter, a little bit more was a drop in the ocean anyway.

“You never got my letters either, did you?”

She shrieked and jumped up, off balance and almost falling back into the fire before he caught her.

“Fucking, buggering, bollocks, Alistair! You nearly gave me a heart attack! How the fuck does someone your size walk that quietly?” She stood, cheeks scarlet, his hands grasping her upper arms, panic flooding her body with adrenaline that made her push him away with all the force she could muster. He moved back, letting go of her arms and started to laugh. Annis strode over and punched him in the chest, forgetting that he was still wearing his splintmail, the pain in her knuckles leading to another explosion of swearing that just made him laugh even harder, until he was almost doubled over and all she could do was stare at him in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, tears streaming down his face as he held his sore ribs while he laughed. “I can’t help it… your face...you…” Annis folded her arms and tried to look stern but she was fighting a losing battle. Finally she sighed and sat back down on the ground.

“When you’re quite finished, Alistair.” He wasn’t, quite, but he threw himself on the ground beside her as if he wasn’t wearing several pounds of metal and, really ‘chortling’ was the only word for the ridiculous noises he was making now. Eventually they sat in silence, both watching the dying fire.

She sighed. “The last letter I got from you told me you were being sent to the Chantry. And that my Papa was dead and Mama had taken my brothers back to Antiva. I kept writing, first to say I hadn’t heard from you, then to ask why you weren’t writing, then to beg you to write anything, even if it was that you never wanted to hear from a filthy mage again.”

Alistair closed his eyes in pain. “I won’t ask how you thought I could do that to you, because it’s exactly what I thought too. I thought being in the Chantry, and then being a Templar, I thought you hated me even though it wasn’t my choice. And then when we met I was being an idiot to that mage and... Maker I’m a moron.”

“I was so happy when I saw you, I thought my heart would burst. Then I really thought you hated mages, and you never asked about me, even if you didn’t recognise me I thought you might have asked, when it was just us.”

“I heard you talking to Morrigan, telling her how few mages lived to their Harrowing. I wanted to ask but I thought maybe that was why the letters stopped, that you’d died and no one even bothered to tell me.”

She looked at him shyly, “We’re idiots.”

“I think that’s a fair assessment.” He laughed and then looked serious. “You were so thin, and you… actually I thought you were older. It was hard, wasn’t it?” There was pain in his voice, they’d always looked after each other, and then they hadn’t. It wasn’t their fault, but it happened anyway. She couldn’t meet his eyes and see the hope she knew would be there now they had found each other again. She knew what she was, she’d been told often enough - bitch; ice-queen; narcissist. Alistair was sweet, kind, noble, everything she wasn’t. Trying to become his Mia again would just let him down. She stood and turned from him to hide her face as she put her robes back on.

“Life is hard,” she said, coldly, before walking back to the camp.

———-

Alistair watched her leave. It was like looking at a broken mirror, you could see the girl she had been and the one she was meant to be, but the image was warped, twisted into something else, and if you reached out a hand the shards would cut you to the bone. He saw the true Annnis sometimes in the way she talked to Morrigan, sharing ideas and stories of lives that were so different, but so similar as well, or the adoring looks she gave Leliana that made her eyes soft and her voice low and shy. 

He couldn’t blame her for hating him. He wasn’t any good at this stuff. Stupid jokes, avoiding responsibility and swinging a sword were his strengths. Everything else was completely out of his depth so he left her to Leliana and hoped for the best. But this time he had to face her himself, arguing with Leli that he made the mess so he had to fix it. The archer had just rolled her eyes and threatened a hideous death if he upset Annis more than he already had. Since he firmly believed she could make good on that threat he wondered if he should just sleep here for the night. Finally, tiredness and hunger sent him back to camp where Morrigan silently handed him a bowl of stew and Leli and Annis were conspicuously absent. He sighed, ate the food and went to find a spot to keep watch for the first shift.


	9. Peace Talks

Morrigan was running through every swear word she knew in her head. The idiot had been hovering on the edge of her vision for the last twenty minutes, shuffling from foot to foot looking like he wanted to talk to her. The lyrium she was brewing was almost ready, in a few minutes she would have no excuse to pretend to ignore him and if he hadn’t given up she would have to talk to him. She couldn’t imagine why he would want to talk to her since they couldn’t speak without arguing. Recently they hadn’t even tried, making Annis their go between when necessary. She had expected to be sent away as soon as they were out of the Wilds and if Alistair had been in charge she probably would have been. But Annis had overruled him and a sort of easy companionship had grown between them. She didn’t get on with many people, didn’t know how to mimic the social skills everyone required for interaction. Annis simply accepted that about her and didn’t push her to be someone she wasn’t. Unlike Alistair, who was now watching her set the simmering cauldron aside to cool with a determined look on his face. Apparently there was no avoiding him today so she sighed and turned to face him.

“What do you want, Alistair?” He always seemed uncomfortable with the fact she was almost as tall as him so she deliberately straightened to minimise the few inches. “I am rather busy trying to replace the lyrium potions we used at Soldiers Peak. If you need something, I’m sure the others will return shortly and you can bother them. Wynne would be most pleased to impart her vast wisdom upon a young templar, I’m sure.”

He sighed, “I’ve told you repeatedly I’m not a Templar, Morrigan. I never made my vows, I’m a Warden. You know what, never mind. I need to speak to you, not argue over nonsense and make snarky comments at each other.

She raised an eyebrow. Outside of battle, he was never so assertive, awkward and covering it with his feeble attempts at humour. She despised men in general and weak ones in particular and unless he was swinging a sword Alistair was weak, dumping leadership on Annis being a prime example. She still hoped more male Wardens would be found, young and not long inducted. The orders her mother had given her became more unpalatable every time she looked at the sniveling lump. Beautiful he might be on the outside, but nothing else appealed to her and she knew he felt the same.

“Well? If you wish conversation, I suggest you begin. I certainly have nothing to say to you.”

He shuffled uncomfortably. “In the keep, you spoke to that mage, Avernus. Did he tell you what that potion was? The one Annis drank. Did he tell you what it did?”

“Why do you not ask Annis herself? She knows the effects it has had.”

“She won’t tell me,” he muttered, angrily. “Apparently I don’t need to know.”

“Then why would you think I would tell you? You are not the leader here, Alistair, you have made that abundantly clear at every opportunity. Let your leader deal with these issues and concentrate on swinging your sword as required. That is what you have wished for, even demanded, these weeks, is it not?”

“That’s not...I can’t…” he huffed at her, “I’m worried about her. I know you are too, I saw your face when she took the potion and how you’ve looked at her since you spoke to Avernus. You know something, and it worries you. I want to know what it is because I’m so worried about her I feel sick. She refuses to tell Wynne about the potion, Leliana can’t get her to agree either but she thinks the nightmares have been worse and I think she’s right.”

Morrigan snorted, "I have no wish to hear of your 'sleeping arrangements' thank you very much." He blushed bright red and started stammering. She knew nothing happened between them and she disapproved of the fact the three still shared a tent at night when Alistair should have bowed out to give the women the privacy they deserved. Weak! 

"If you're quite finished, I have potions to…" That infernal beast started barking. It wasn't the high pitched alert noise indicating an attack, rather the deep, resonant  _ woof _ that meant his mistress was returning. Denerim was no place for an apostate or a wanted traitor. Annis shouldn't have gone either but she insisted on supporting Leliana in facing her former mistress. Alistair wanted to see his half-sister but he hadn't asked. Leli had been so upset by Marjolaine's attack, he couldn't make things about him. Besides, he didn't want Annis upset about him searching for his blood family, she didn't need that right now, when they were barely being civil to each other again. They would return to Denerim some time. 

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "There is an extra person there." Sten and Leliana were at the front and looked as if they were arguing. Wynne was not far behind but Annis was barely in sight, walking with a figure not much taller than Leliana. Though slightly built and short, Morrigan thought it was a male and wondered what new stray Annis had managed to adopt this time, before moving to meet them at the main fire. 

\------

"You did what?" Alistair was livid. Not satisfied with trying to kill them all at Ostagar, Loghain decided to finish the job using an assassin! An assassin apparently Annis had decided to first spare and then enlist. She was staring at him with that icy look, somehow looking down her nose at him from a foot below him. It drove him up the wall when she did that, it had since they were about three years old and she first perfected that look and in the past 15 years nothing had changed. He still didn’t know how he hadn’t recognised her earlier, she had thrown that exact look at Jory in the Wilds.

“Grey Wardens do  _ whatever _ is necessary.” He looked over her head and caught Morrigan’s eye. She was furious too and if he had been in a better mood he might have been relieved her temper wasn’t aimed at him for once. Sten had stalked off to his tent and Wynne to her, the mage looking more worried than angry. Leliana and Morrigan were muttering together, the redhead obviously trying to soothe the other woman while the subject of it all stood to the side, trying to look as non-threatening as possible while Dane stood on guard before him.

He was tall for an elf, with sun-kissed hair and skin just a shade darker than Annis’, indicating their shared Antivan heritage. Tattoos wound down the side of his face and neck and he wore light leather armour. Alistair didn’t know whether to be more worried about the fact he was an assassin or the fact he had failed miserably to kill one of his targets and immediately abandoned his contract and gave up his employer. Was inept or disloyal worse? Either way, there was no point continuing to argue. She had made up her mind and nothing would move her. Also, she wasn’t wrong. So far they had two wardens, an apostate, a Circle mage, a Qunari murderer and an Orlesian bard. Duncan always told him that Grey Wardens took allies where they could, defeating the Blight was all that mattered.

“Fine,” he muttered, “but if we needed a sign that we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

\------

Having Zevran join them may have caused some arguments, but it had some positive points as far as Annis was concerned. Morrigan and Alistair had put some of their enmity aside to focus on hating the assassin, watching him every moment, especially when he was near Annis. Leliana had been hostile but Zev recognised how close they were and worked on winning her over, both enjoying playful flirtation and testing each others skills, Leli teaching Zev to pick locks while he showed her how to move in shadows. Useful skills for now but she thought after the Blight the two would have the potential to be a menace across Thedas. She hoped Leli would persuade Alistair and Morrigan to bend a little, if Zevran himself couldn't. Morrigan had threatened to burn off his dick if he propositioned her again and Alistair just retreated in confusion so he had given up on trying to ingratiate himself that way. And neither of them were talking to her at the moment. The potion had burned, she struggled sometimes to keep the power under control, especially when angry. She knew they worried but they needed every edge they could get, whether it was an assassin or dark magic. Stopping the Blight, leaving some kind of world for them after it, that was all that mattered.


	10. The Gauntlet

_ "Do you still feel you failed your friend?"  _

She thought about that question every step of the way through The Gauntlet. She hadn't stopped thinking about Jowan since Redcliffe. He wasn't tranquil, or executed by Templars, he was sitting in a cell waiting to be sentenced by the man she was up this Maker-forsaken mountain to save. She had failed him - used, abandoned, betrayed - but being here, talking to the spirit that took his face, gave her perspective. He had abandoned her too. She had always known he loved Meera more than her, he had distanced himself as they had fallen in love, he reappeared when he wanted something. She had thought him immature, unable to cope with what had happened, desperate to escape into a romantic dreamworld. She thought he had turned to blood magic recently, out of fear of the Rite. 

But the truth was Jowan had used her. First as a link to Meera, then as a pawn to get his phylactery. His knowledge of blood magic wasn't the result of a few months but years of directed training by Uldred. He had made a deal with Loghain to poison Arl Eamon while secretly teaching a child resulting in his possession. In the dungeon he had offered to help then refused to join them until everything was safe, offering murder to save the child to avoid facing Irving again. Once, he had been everything to her, not a hair between them in her love for them both. But she had never been that for him. Only a means to an end. Walking naked through Andraste's flames, she let them burn away that guilt and regret and approached the sacred ashes cleansed and reverent. 

\------

They avoided Haven on the way back to Redcliffe, the villagers were unlikely to be understanding of their actions and they all wanted to get out of the freezing mountains as fast as possible. In Redcliffe they were treated like heroes and given rooms in the castle. The best bit was Isolde hiding in her rooms with Connor, pleading fatigue and distress. Annis had no time for Eamon either but Bann Teagan was pleasant enough company. If she and Leliana hadn’t had other plans for celebrating their victory, she would have considered inviting him to her room. Instead, she glanced to where her Nightingale sat deep in conversation with Zevran. She looked up and gave a barely perceptible nod before turning back to the elf to whisper something in his ear that made them both giggle.

The three of them came from different directions, Zevran slipping into the room using a servants passage almost forgotten. He stopped, taking in the tableau before him; Annis was in a thin silken shift that clung to her body, no lines to show there was anything under it but soft skin. Slowly, she slid Leliana's borrowed dress off her shoulders, kissing her way down the porcelain skin, following the fabric down across her chest until pink nipples appeared to be sucked and fondled. 

Leli opened her eyes lazily and beckoned to the man. As if in a dream he moved where he was bid, taking one peaked bud into his mouth, hands roaming, meeting small hands, pushing the dress over narrow hips to float down to the floor. Fingers slipped between legs, thick and thin slipping inside in turns as Zev released Leliana's breast and knelt before her, tongue swirling around her clit as she moaned above him, struggling to stand as waves of sensation crashed over her. One hard suck brought her over the edge, crying out as she pulled two heads tight against her. 

Annis lifted her head from the beautiful breasts to kiss Leliana, soft and gentle to help bring her back to herself. Then the two women focused themselves on Zevran, drawing him forward and undressing him with kisses and caresses. Annis slowly kneeled before him while Leliana stood behind, drawing breeches and smalls out of the way as Annis took him in her mouth, whispering in his ear, "we're very glad you joined us." As she spoke Annis sucked strongly and he could only reply with a groan. 

She stood back up and took his hands, drawing him towards the bed, while Leli moved around and lay on it, waiting for them. Three sets of hands and lips tangled together, exploring with sighs and gasps, alternately licking, kissing, sucking. Annis took him in her mouth again while he licked and sucked her cunt, fucking her with his tongue until rhythm abandoned her and she came hard on his face. She resumed blowing him as Leli sucked his balls and ran her finger gently around his rim. As he came, she pressed softly inside, massaging his prostate, prolonging his orgasm as streams of cum shot down Annis' throat and he shouted both their names. 

They collapsed on the bed, laughing together, the women leaning over his broad chest to kiss deeply while he lightly stroked them both. Then he stilled. 

"Did neither of you beautiful creatures wear underwear this evening?" 

Leliana giggled. "Annis couldn't get away with that, those beautiful tits need support." While saying it she slid her hands down and cupped her breasts through the shift. "Mine are nowhere near as impressive, I only wear a band when in armour."

Zevran laughed and leaned up to lay a kiss on the nearest breast, "They are just as beautiful, in their own special way. And delicious." He stood, comfortably nude, and walked to a small cabinet that apparently contained alcohol and poured two flutes of sparkling wine. Carrying them over, he handed one to Leliana and stood over Annis looking thoughtful. She lay back on the pillows, a sultry smile curving swollen red lips and held out her hand for the glass. 

"Leliana, amora, don't you think there's something very wrong with the view?" He smirked and sipped the wine in his hand. "I cannot seem to find those beautiful tits you were talking about. Perhaps they are hiding?" 

"You are entirely correct, my sweet. How remiss of our dear Warden to conceal such treasures. Would you like me to correct the situation?" He nodded acquiescence as Leliana placed her glass on a small table and moved over to Annis, lying passively, watching her with hooded eyes. Leliana shifted Annis, moving behind her and settling her in her lap. While Zevran watched and sipped his wine, she loosened the lacing holding the shift closed over ample cleavage and slid material aside, slowly exposing golden skin. Silk framed the heavy breasts as Leli resumed cupping them, displaying them for their guest. Annis stared at him and licked her lips. 

"Do they meet with your approval, ser?" Leli squeezed firmly as she spoke, drawing a moan from Annis that made Zev’s cock twitch. Taking another sip, he feigned noble disdain. 

"Very nice. I would like to see more." She pushed the shift down till it sat gathered on her waist. When there was no further response, she began to inch the skirt up, exposing slender legs, easing over hips until everything was on show. Zevran stared at them like a starving man at a feast, before remembering himself.

“Is she wet?” Annis moaned, her head lolling back onto Leliana’s shoulder as slender fingers reached between her legs, swirling through moisture, avoiding everywhere Annis needed. She brought her fingers up to her lips, sucking on them, moaning at the taste, before nodding to the man standing casually before them, only his cock showing how much he was enjoying the view. There was something wanton about lying there, exposed but not undressed, clothes moved out of the way to make anything accessible as if she existed only to be used as her lovers commanded. Want pulsed through her, soaking her, as Zevran only stood before her. Slowly, he knelt on the bed, prowling across to them before sliding his hands up Annis’ calves, along her thighs, over hips, placing them finally on the bed on either side of her as his body slid along hers. She reached for him only to find her hands pinned by fabric she hadn’t noticed Leliana winding round. Zevran’s body lay flush with hers, erect cock pressing just above her cunt, one hand moving to pin her firmly down as she tried to rub against him while he stretched up and began to kiss Leliana. They pressed together as if Annis wasn’t even there, writhing against her as if against each other, damp spreading across her back as Leliana opened her legs further, rubbing herself against Annis’ back. She lay between them, aching fiercely, moaning as she watched their tongues dip into each others mouths, as Zevran sucked on Leli’s lower lip she imagined him making those same movements against her clit, before his tongue moved inside her as it moved into Leli’s mouth. She wondered if she would come like this, held between them, driven to the edge by them fucking each other around her, using her without acknowledging her existence. Suddenly they stopped, moving completely away from her as she cried out for them, barely coherent, struggling blindly against her bound hands.

“Shhh, sweetling,” the deep, accented voice soothed her as fabric was untwisted. They rained kisses down on her, softly stroking her. She gazed into Leli’s bright blue eyes and kissed her as if her life depended on it. Leliana gently broke the kiss and moved back as Zevran came forward to take her place, a sweet, undemanding kiss, slow and all-encompassing as he moved between her legs, entering her over-sensitised body inch by inch. They moved together, she felt so full and stretched, it had been so long since she’d been with a man and he groaned at how tight she was around him. He moved faster, thrusting into her as she angled her hips up until he was exactly where she wanted him, until passion swept through her body, tightening around him almost to the point of pain, pulling him over with her as they called each others names and she felt him empty himself inside her.

They slept wrapped in each others arms. Leli had promised that she would not abandon Annis for Zevran, that there was room for both of them in her heart. For tonight, at least, it felt true and Annis felt safe and loved.


	11. What Are We To Each Other?

It was still dark when she slipped out of the room and left her friends entwined together. She had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, not wanting the added disruption of robes she had thrown on leggings and a shirt. From the smell it was Zevran’s shirt not her own that she had lifted but she was sure he wouldn’t mind. His scent was reassuring, safe and she wanted that right now.

The stables hadn’t changed at all, dark and warm, smelling of hay and horses with constant whispering movement. There were no people here, everyone still alive was up in the castle or helping in the village. She grabbed a brush and moved to the first stall, clicking softly to let the horse know she was coming. Brushing its coat was soothing. She hadn’t done this for years but the motions were almost automatic. She heard Alistair walk in, his movements almost as familiar as brushing the horse. He grabbed a brush and joined her, taking the other side of the horse, making the same clicking noise her father had taught them both.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Talk about what?”

“I still miss him, every time I walk into a stable, I expect him to be there, showing me how to do things, how to be a man. When he died all that disappeared, Mama left and then I thought you abandoned me as well. Duncan was the closest I ever had to having him back again, and then I lost him too.”

She leaned her head against the horse, closing her eyes against the pain in his voice.

“I told myself it didn’t matter that I was sent away, because at least he was alive, that being in the Tower was worth it because he hadn’t died. Then he died anyway and my first thought was ‘what was the point?’ If he was just going to die anyway, what difference had I made? What was the point in me even existing? That was the first thought I had when you told me my father died - ‘what was the point’.”

They worked their way through the stables, ending up covered in horse hair. They shared those missing eight years, the joys and the pains. She laughed at the image of him screaming just for some noise, he blushed like a maiden when she described being caught in a compromising position with Jowan in a small study room off the library. She told him how proud she was of his skill, his dedication to making the most of everywhere he was sent, and he cried with her when she told him about Meera and her baby. They ended up lying in an empty stall, sharing every last detail of their lives, wrapped in each others arms as if they were still children telling each other their deepest secrets.

Alistair gently kissed the top of her head and asked carefully, “Do you want to talk about Leliana and Zevran?” She looked up at him, surprised at the concern in his voice and in his eyes. “I know they’re together now, it’s not a big secret. But you never say anything, and I didn’t want to ask, and… I worried about you. You’re always so together, so serene and I know you wouldn’t let it affect our mission but… I really thought you two were so lovely together.”

She sat up and looked at him. He had listened to her talk about Jowan and Meera, but she thought it probably hadn’t sunk in, and she didn’t know how to explain. Would he understand or would he think her depraved, would he be disgusted by her, after spending years under the influence of the Chantry? How could she explain to him without losing him again?

“Alistair, can I explain something? I want you to listen, not speak. People are complicated, they love who they love, there doesn’t have to be rhyme or reason to it. The Chantry want everyone to match up, one man, one woman, and make babies. Nobles do it too. But that’s about control, about property and inheritance, about having the power to define one of the most basic instincts we have and therefore control it. They do the same with mages, lock us up, confine us, dictate how we should live.

“In the Circle, we own nothing, nothing belongs to us. Sexual relationships are a necessity to us as to any other people but a monogamous committed relationship isn’t just frowned upon, it’s an impossibility. All the things that the Chantry says about marriage, none of them apply to us. Does that make sense?”

She sighed as he looked at her, completely confused. “In the Tower, I didn’t have different relationships, Meera, Jowan and I were in a relationship. At the same time. We also weren’t exclusive to each other. Relationships...fluctuate. But, until the last year, I would have sworn I would have spent my whole life with them. And I loved them both the same, not one more than the other.” She frowned, “I know now that Jowan didn’t feel that way, not about me, but it doesn’t change how I felt, any more than a married woman deserted for another lover can change how she feels.

“Zevran grew up in a whorehouse, then was sold to the Crows. In some ways, that’s not really that different. And Leliana...none of us had conventional upbringings really. Sex is about connection, love is something else.”

“But, how can you love more than one person, how can you stand to see the person you love with someone else? Remember what Wynne said, love is ultimately selfish…” 

She put a finger over his lips. “Don’t quote Wynne to me. She was my mentor, I believed everything she said, until I realised that she knew nothing more about these things than I did. How can a parent love their children, how could ours love you as much as me when I was born of them and you weren’t? If love is selfish, why isn’t all love selfish? I can be happy that we saved a Templar I barely knew existed and a man who sold me to the Grey Wardens; I can be happy a child I never really met is no longer possessed and I didn’t have to murder a woman I despise to do it; I can even be happy that you’re happy about us saving Eamon when I blame him as much as her for separating us, but I can’t be happy that two of my closest friends are happy? And we can’t share the love we have for each other on a sexual level in the same way we share it in friendship and in protecting each other? That makes no sense to me at all. I love them, they love me, sometimes they have sex, sometimes I do, with one or both of them…”

“Both…?” It came out like a squeak. She flinched, waiting for censure, waiting for him to back away from her. “How do you...I mean, all of you...I mean… In fact, I don’t want to know.” He was blushing worse than ever.

She withdrew from him. “I’m sorry. This is me. This is who I am. But I won’t mention it again, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” She looked away, reluctant to meet his eyes. She stood and brushed hay from her leggings and started to move away. “Perhaps that’s enough sharing for today. Someone must be looking for us, for you at least, by now.”

He reached out and caught her arm. “Here, look at this.” He held out a rose to her, deep red, with a hum of mana around it. “Do you know what this is?”

“Is this a trick question?”

"I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

“There’s beauty everywhere, Alistair. I’m glad you saved it.”

“Please, hear me out. I thought that I might…give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you. I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it? I just thought, here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it, yourself. You've had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining. Not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy."

He took her hand and gently placed the rose in it. "I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness. I’ve missed you so much, all these years, and you’re still the person I love most in this world, Mia”

She held the rose to her face, feeling the soft petals against her lips, inhaling the sweet fragrance. She knew Morrigan had enchanted the rose, she could feel the other woman’s touch on it and felt grateful to her. It would never wither and fade, a constant light in darkness.

“Siempre en mi corazon, Caro.” she whispered.

She didn’t know what she felt, he was neither brother nor lover but so much more than a friend. They stood in the stables, holding desperately to each other, determined to never again let go. Whatever the future held, she spoke true. He would always be in her heart.


	12. Interlude

"Andraste's tits! Why the fuck can't anything ever be fucking simple?" 

She paced around the richly appointed room in the centre of the suite Harrowmont had assigned them. Orzammar was their last stop and should have been simple. Instead they had spent days running to and fro and now were committed to heading into the Deep Roads on a fool's errand to prop up Harrowmont's claim to the throne. 

'Somebody tell me why we need the dwarves? We've persuaded everyone else, tell me we can tell Harrowmont to go fuck himself?"

No one replied. They all knew why the dwarves were needed. A handful of mages, elves and the tattered remains of Redcliffe’s army weren't enough against Loghain, never mind the darkspawn. Bhelen was repulsive and untrustworthy, Harrowmont their only option, so into the Deep Roads they would go, in search of a missing Paragon. 

She had sent Wynne back to Redcliffe, with Dane and Sten as guards and orders to collect the mages on the way. The other four were sprawled across various sofas and chairs. Leliana and Zevran cuddled together on a couch, Zev playing gently with the soft, red hair, wrapping it round his fingers as Leli dozed. Morrigan was at a writing table, pouring over her mother’s grimoire for about the fiftieth time. A lock of thick, black hair had escaped her clasp and fell across her face, impatiently pushed back from time to time and no one would dare tell her that she stuck her tongue out in the most adorable way when she concentrated. Alistair slouched on a chair by the fire, a book of adventure stories abandoned in his lap as he watched in amusement as Annis paced and gesticulated and vented her frustrations.

“You know, if we tied your hands behind your back, you’d probably be completely speechless,” he drawled. Zev chuckled, earning him a glare from Annis before she turned to Alistair, hands on hips. She stared at him for a minute, then relaxed, laughing softly. She looked around at them, her friends. She could never have the relationship with Wynne they had once had, and she and Sten had learned civility, then mutual respect, but these four were true friends, the closest thing she had to family, possibly the closest she had ever had. She looked around at them.

“I love you,” she said. “There aren’t words for how much I love you, all of you. We’re going into the Deep Roads, then we’ll be moving against Loghain, and the Blight and I’m so afraid that I can’t do enough to save all of you. I want you to know how much I love you.”

Leliana stood and walked over to her, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman. “My darling, we love you too. And we are well able to look after ourselves, and look after you, my love.”

“I think it unlikely that anyone here needs saving,” Morrigan looked up, “I believe ‘tis everyone else that needs saving from us. Now, flowery declarations of love aside, I have work to do and would appreciate quiet.” She looked back down to the grimoire but made no attempt to leave for her own room, or to refute either of the women on a subject she had long professed to be useless and weak. 

There was silence for a minute, before Zevran stretched like a cat and stood. “Ah, mi amore, perhaps we should just skip from the feelings directly to the orgy.”

Morrigan slammed the book shut, looking horrified, while Alistair sat bolt upright and turned bright pink. Annis and Leli looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

“What? You have no words for your love for us? I say we forget words and express that love with actions instead.”

Annis sniggered, “Somehow, I don’t think Alistair or Morrigan will be on board with that, Zev.”

Morrigan stood, grimoire under one arm. “If you’re going to be ridiculous, I will read in my room.” As she walked past, she leaned in to give Annis a kiss on her cheek. Once the door closed behind her, Zev turned to the other three.

“So, orgy?”

“There’s not going to be an orgy,” Annis laughed while the elf pouted at her. He walked over to Alistair and leaned down, placing a firm kiss on the other man’s lips. When Alistair leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth slightly and flicking Zevran’s lips with the tip of his tongue, he jumped. Alistair, Leli and Annis all burst out laughing while Zev looked first surprised, then abashed, before joining in the laughter.

“Your face,” Alistair waved a hand at the assassin. “I’m sorry, Zev, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Ah well, amigo. I am difficult to resist, after all. Perhaps you would like to give in to temptation once more?”

“Ah, no thanks, Zevran. I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Shame. How then shall we pass the time?"

Leliana picked up a pack of cards from the games table in the corner and sat down in the middle of the floor, folding her long legs under her. She started shuffling the deck and Zev and Annis sat beside her. Annis looked round at Alistair and raised an eyebrow. 

He groaned. "I wish that ridiculous pirate hadn't taught you that game, I always lose." But he moved off the chair and settled on the floor with them. 

"That's not all she…" 

"I don't want to hear it, Zev!" 

They played a few hands of Wicked Grace, chatting about anything except the Deep Roads, the Blight or Loghain. 

"Alistair, I find it very difficult to imagine that you have never 'licked a lamppost'. I also grew up in a barracks full of 'rambunctious boys' and when lampposts are so very available…" The elf trailed off lasciviously, watching the warriors reaction. 

"Have you heard of private conversations?" 

"I have and I suggest that the middle of a camp is not so private, especially when the person with the best hearing is on guard only a few metres away." Alistair huffed. Annis opened her mouth to intervene as Leliana placed a hand on her knee. Surprised, she looked at the bard, who pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. Closing her mouth again, she looked back to her cards. She trusted Zev with her life, with her heart, with Leliana's love, she could trust him not to hurt her Caro. 

Alistair was staring at his cards, not really seeing them. He looked up at Zev, cocking his head and grinning. 

"Good point. I'm sure plenty of lampposts were being licked, but since I was universally despised and spent most of my time on punishment duties, that aspect just passed me by. Besides, I imagine there's little comparison between our upbringings? I don't suppose the Crows mind how you get close to a mark?"

"Not at all. In fact, as soon as our bodies begin to change we are taught how to use them, how to seduce and be seduced. In Antiva there is far more freedom in that way and noble marks very often have a fondness for elves." 

"Being a bard is much the same," said Leliana, thoughtfully. "Seduction is far easier to hide than murder, since the victim will generally assist in concealment. Bards are taught to use every weapon at their disposal." 

"What about love?" asked Alistair. Looking from the bard to the assassin he thought about them both, barely touching puberty, being taught to use their bodies as weapons, seduction merely a game with death the consequence of losing. 

"Love? Mi amigo, love is a dream. Romance, home, wife, children, these are not things for the likes of us. Of those in this room, perhaps you will know that love, but for the rest? We take what is offered while we can and do not mourn when it is gone." 

They played on in silence for a while. It wasn't uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Bottles of wine piled up unnoticed in a corner. Eventually Annis dropped her cards in the middle. 

"I'm done, we're supposed to have an early start in the morning." 

"I'll join you" she stared at Alistair and he blushed, "Ah, I mean, I'm done too. Not that I want to… Not that I wouldn't want to… I mean…" 

"I know what you mean, Caro." She laughed gently and cupped his cheek in her hand. Leaning forward, she placed a light kiss at the side of his mouth. "My beautiful, innocent man, you are a light in the darkness." She moved on, bestowing kisses on Leliana and Zevran, reminding them of the early rise they had planned. Leliana also stood, kissing Zevran and Alistair before heading to her room leaving the two men alone. 

Zev stepped forward, placing his hand on Alistair's arm. 

"Sleep well, Alistair." 

Alistair looked at him and grinned. He leaned in and kissed Zev on his mouth, exactly the way the two women had. He pulled back, eyes dancing with mischief and said, "Night, Zev, I love you." 

"Ah, my friend, if only you would let me show you how much I love you in return." His flippant, suggestive smile turned bittersweet, and he touched Alistair's jaw as Annis had. 

"Never regret your innocence, mi amore. As our beloved Warden says, you are a light in the darkness of our lives." With that, the elf dropped his hand and turned, disappearing into his room, leaving Alistair watching him go, his heart aching for him, for all of them, his family, his loves. Sleep was a long time coming. 


	13. The Dark Ritual

“No!”

“But…”

“No, Morrigan!”

“You will die!”

“Good!”

Morrigan was shocked into silence. Of all the responses she had expected, that wasn’t one of them. Annis stood before her, tears running down her face, staring at her friend as if just as shocked at the words coming from her mouth. She sat down, heavily, on the edge of the bed behind her.

“I can’t, Mor. Please, don’t make me do this. I’ve spent years betraying everyone I love for ‘the greater good’ or for duty or just because there was no other way. I can’t ask Alistair to do something he doesn’t want to do, not to save my life.”

“What about to save his?”

“I’ve already dealt with that. He agreed to be King. Tomorrow, Eamon and Anora will make sure he stays off the front lines. My price for selling him to the throne and marriage. If Riordan can’t kill the Archdemon, then I will. The Blight will end.”

“And you will die.”

“Yes, I’ll die. No more betrayal, no more failures. Everyone else has plans, after the battle Leli is returning to the Chantry, Zevran has business with the Crows, Wynne will rebuild the Circle and Alistair will be a great King. I knew you wouldn’t stay, no matter what happens. There’s too much of the world for you to see, now your mother is gone, you need to fly. And I’m done, there’s nothing left of me. This last year, Blight and darkspawn and everything, has still been the best year in my life, because I’ve had a purpose, and all of you. I’m happy with that.”

“You’re ridiculous!” Morrigan stood. “I love you, Annis, you’re the closest thing I have had to a sister. But you are right, after the battle I will not stay, nor will the assassin, or the bard, or the mage or anyone else. Alistair will need you.”

“He will need to live his life. He will need to learn to stand on his own feet, to rule his kingdom, hopefully to love his wife. He will not need me.”

“You are wrong. But I won’t mention it again. I’m sorry for causing you distress.”

She swept out of the room, leaving Annis alone with her thoughts. Outside, she leaned against the wall. She had always known Annis was damaged, her tempers, her black moods. She had watched her friend manipulate and murder her way across Fereldan, mostly approving her actions. But this she would not approve. She had wanted Annis as an intermediary, knowing how much Alistair disliked her, but she would not let the woman’s death wish stand in her way. She would have to face Alistair on her own.

\---------

Alistair groaned at the sharp knock on his door. Would no one leave him in peace with his thoughts? Annis had managed to get him to agree to be King and even to marry Anora although he was sure marrying a poisonous snake would be safer. The least people could do was let him contemplate his doom in peace. Maybe he would die tomorrow? Then none of this would be an issue and Anora could continue to rule, just as he wanted from the start.

“Alistair, open the door!”

Fabulous! Just to put a cherry on the day, Morrigan was pounding on his door. He considered throwing himself out of the window to save him some pain.

“Alistair, if you do not open this door right now I will burn it down and then I’ll set fire to your bed.”

He threw the door open before she finished the sentence. 

“What do you want, Morrigan? I’m trying to sleep here. I’m not sure you noticed, but we’re having a bloody big battle tomorrow.”

“You were not sleeping. I could feel you moping from out here.” She moved past him. He always wondered how she could move like that, as if she barely touched the ground. He closed the door behind them and turned to her.

“I am not moping. I…”

“I couldn’t care less. I have something to say. You’re not going to like it and neither do I, but apparently you are my last hope.”

That didn’t sound ominous at all. He moved over to one of the armchairs and sat.

“If it’s about the battle tomorrow, shouldn’t you have…”

“It is not about the battle. No, it is, but it could not be brought up earlier.” She paused, staring at him with those huge violet eyes, looking - nervous? Could Morrigan actually be nervous about something? She swallowed before continuing, “There is a way to ensure that whoever kills the Archdemon survives.”

“Wait! How do you know about that? No, never mind, I probably don’t want to know.” She always seemed to know everything anyway, why would he be surprised by this.

“Continual interruptions will not make this go any quicker, Alistair,” she frowned at him. He was used to her frowns, they ranged from disgust to contempt to outright loathing. This one had something else. She was definitely worried. He sat back and motioned her to go on, miming sewing his mouth shut, a promise to be silent.

“There is a ritual I can perform. It must be performed tonight and it will ensure that the soul of the Archdemon is… diverted. In order to carry it out, I will take some of your blood and mix it with my own and some lyrium, in a similar mixture to that of the Joining serum. Then you will impregnate me and the ritual will be complete.”

He sat still, eyes wide. She had rushed through that last sentence so quickly, he almost didn’t believe what he had heard. Her cheeks were scarlet, her expression defiant, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Impregnate you?”

“Yes, once I have ingested the mixture. After the battle I will leave, and you will never have to see me again.”

“Impregnate you?” 

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Then she sat on the chair opposite him and leaned towards him.

“Alistair. This ritual will create a child, the child of a Grey Warden, one who is not so long tainted as to be sterile, aided by magic. The soul of the Archdemon will enter the child barely created rather than the Warden that slays it. The taint will be purified and the corruption banished, the child will be born with the soul of an old God and I shall raise it in isolation, far from any danger to others and to itself. And you and Annis will both live. You will never see me again, never have to think about me, or the child. For a few minutes of your time.”

He closed his eyes. To have sex with Morrigan? His virginity wasn’t anything he was particularly comfortable with, but to lose it to a woman who despised him? To create a bastard child who would never know him as father, who would grow as he had, not knowing who he truly was? For what? To save his life, or Annis’? Was it worth it? 

“Alistair,” her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “I have already spoken to Annis. I hoped she would be able to put this to you more subtly. I have no gift for this. But she refused.” His eyes opened, along with his mouth. If Annis thought it was a terrible idea, why would Morrigan bring it to him? Why would she tell him this? “She refused because she has arranged with Eamon and Anora for you to be kept from the battle. And because she wants to die,”

“What?” he jumped up, unable to comprehend her words. “What do you mean? Of course she doesn’t want to die, she told me she’s happy, she told me…”

She interrupted him, standing and placing her hands on his arms, looking in his eyes for the first time since he had opened the door.

“Alistair, she thinks she had nothing more to offer, that no one needs anything from her. And so, she thinks her purpose is done. Her heart has always been dark, you have seen that, as any of us have. You will be safe, they will insist and you will not be able to resist since you know they will speak sense. And Annis will face the Archdemon and die.” 

Her hands dropped, “This is what my mother sent me here for, she knew what would come. When you killed her for me, I knew I had room and respite. That I could ignore this task, assist against the Blight without putting myself at such risk. But, I cannot avoid my emotions. I cannot know that I can do something and yet walk away. I have no wish to force you, even if I could, it must be your choice. I know you hate me, but…”

“I don’t hate you, Morrigan.” He said it almost absently, frowning at his thoughts. “She made a bargain, hah, of course she did, I’m so stupid. Every move thought out, every option considered and accommodated. She moves the world like chess pieces. The only thing she couldn’t plan for was your ritual. Let me guess, when she is out of the way, everyone will go their separate ways and I’ll be left in the tender care of Eamon and Anora.”

Morrigan nodded. “She likes Anora, she thinks she will edge Eamon out anyway. She hopes that you will find love in your marriage, she thinks she might stand in the way of that.”

He wished it was unbelievable, but he could see it in his mind. Annis knew he would try to connect with Anora. She didn’t believe he agreed with her about love, that she had opened his eyes to the limitation of what he had been taught. He looked at Morrigan. He didn’t hate her, hadn’t for a long time. He felt slightly ashamed at having called her a bitch those months ago, at all the sniping, and he certainly had never thought of her as a potential lover. But they both loved Annis, manipulative, self-destructive Annis, they could do this to save her life, to show her she was loved and needed and had a purpose to continue.

He stepped forward, holding out his hand to Morrigan. She looked at it blankly, then looked at him.

“You need blood?”

She flushed and pulled a flask and a dagger from her belt. She rolled the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow and cut a long shallow stroke along his forearm. They both watched the blood drip into the flask before she sent a whispered burst of magic to seal the wound. A matching cut was made on her arm, red sliding down her arm, each drop falling into the flask. She chanted, lyrium glowing blue, shading to purple, then threw back her head and poured the contents down her throat. She stood, watching him uncertainly as he moved towards her. She shuddered slightly as he brought his hand up to her jaw, barely having to lean down to place a gentle kiss on her mouth, they were so close in height. She leaned in slightly, something gentle and almost hesitant, and Alistair drew back in surprise.

“Morrigan? Have you ever… I mean…”

“No Alistair, I have never had sex.” she pulled back, part defiant, part defensive, as if expecting him to ridicule her. “I am not my mother, to use men and discard them. And she made it clear my virginity was to be protected for this very opportunity. However, I’m sure even you know enough of the theory, or would you like a diagram.”

He laughed at that, ignoring the hostile look she shot him, “I think traveling with Zevran is more of an education than any diagram.” He closed the distance between them and touched her face again. Then he leaned in and whispered close to her ear, “After tomorrow, will you ever allow yourself to be close to someone again?” She jerked slightly away from him and he nodded sadly. “And I am going to marry a woman who sees my shallow, adulterous brother when she looks at me, who intends to stand behind me, pulling the puppet strings for the rest of our lives. Annis thinks there can be love between us, but I doubt it. So if this is the only time we will have to do this on our own terms, we should do it properly, don’t you think?”

\-----

Morrigan moved in closer to Alistair and laid her head on his broad shoulder. His arms came around her, folding her into heat and a scent that she hadn’t realised made her feel safe. As difficult as their relationship was, they had spent a year together, working together, living together. He wasn’t weak, or stupid, or any of the other things she called him. He was kind and strong and honest and she loved him for it. Neither of them would have chosen this, but she was glad it was him. He would look after her, and in return she would look after him.

She looked up at him and nodded. His lips came down on hers again and this time she leaned in to him, opening her mouth slightly, feeling the movement of his mouth on hers. It was gentle, caring, and she relaxed into it, opening further and feeling his tongue lightly exploring. She moved her hands, feeling the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders, moving down his back, her fingers firm against the solid feel of him. He broke the kiss and started working his way to her ear, gently sucking right behind it and moving his kisses down her long neck, until he found a spot that made her gasp, stopping to suck and lick at it, leaving a bright mark on the moonlight skin. His hands, began to move, slowly, languorously, lightly drawing down her back, resting his hands gently on her waist. He was so much broader than her, she worried that large hands, so skilled at wielding a sword, would be clumsy in touching a woman, but his movements were soft, firm enough to send shivers up her spine as one hand worked its way across her ribs until he cupped her breast through her robes, the other lightly resting on her hip. He started moving forward, directing her movements until she felt the bed behind her calves and she sat and pulled Alistair down with her.

Instead of moving to cover her, he knelt on the floor in front of her, his broad body between her knees as he leaned in, moving her clothing until her breasts were exposed, nipples firming in the chilled air. When he drew one of those nipples into his mouth and began sucking on it, she couldn’t hold back a moan. All her life her mother had told her that men were beasts, that violence must be matched with violence, that pleasure must be taken, for a beautiful woman would be treated only as a trophy. She had seen it again and again, until meeting Alistair and Zevran. Their respect for women, even for her, even when she was vicious towards them, had baffled her. She had expected this to be over quickly, a few thrusts, an embarrassed goodbye, quickly forgotten. Instead, sensation flowed through her body, waves of pleasure from the teasing of his mouth distracting her until she felt thick fingers between her legs, separating and dipping into soft fluid. She gasped, tensing slightly, while he moved his mouth back up to hers, murmuring that she was safe, he would be gentle, and kissed her, this time deeper than before, drawing her tongue into his mouth. Their movements were sometimes awkward, teeth clashed, noses rubbed as they tried to work together. As passion increased, it was harder to stay coordinated, neither had the experience to know how to move together, but awkwardness faded as they laughed gently together, adjusting gradually, hands and mouths moving faster.

His finger slipped down again, between swollen lips, gently moving back and forth, looking for something he had only heard of, glad for once that Zevran liked to over share. Morrigan reached down and took his hand, moving his fingers higher to press exactly where she wanted him, showing him how to circle the small bump, how to press gently on it, letting him know with moans and gasps how she responded to each movement. She moved his fingers down to her entrance and he slipped one inside her, moving slowly, feeling the soft, ridged folds clench around him, a soft, fleshy veil resisting his entry, giving slightly as he slipped another finger inside her and massaged against it until it gave slightly, drawing a hiss from Morrigan. He returned to kissing and suckling her breast, alternating sides while his other hand found that little nub once more, rubbing it more firmly. Her moans grew in intensity until suddenly everything clenched, fluid covering his hands, Morrigan crying his name as her orgasm flowed through her, and in that moment he pushed past that slight resistance, brief pain completely subsumed by pleasure as he continued to rub and finger and suck through the waves cresting through her.

As she relaxed into the bed, feeling limp in a way her own hands had never granted her, he rose up over her. He didn’t loom, or intimidate her with his size, instead she drew him closer, fumbling with the laces on his leggings, pushing everything out of the way with his own clumsy help, until he was naked and pushing into her. His cock was far larger than his fingers and for a moment she was afraid as she had never been afraid before. She was afraid of being hurt by him. But somehow he knew, soothing her with gentle strokes of his hands, moving slowly, letting her adjust, letting himself adjust to the feel of her surrounding him. As she relaxed, he moved deeper and they began to move together. As he moved past that barrier she tensed slightly, before relaxing, tilting her hips to welcome him deeper into her. They kissed, deeply, passionately, thrusting against each other, each move becoming more frantic as warmth built between them. Alistair rubbed and pinched her nipple, enjoying every moan he swallowed as he kissed her, moving his hand down to rub her clit again, drawing her up and up into a spiral of pleasure, sending her crashing over the edge again, not slowing but pressing more and more firmly, thrusting deeper into her in time with firm pressure on her, unable to keep kissing her, unable to do more than sink his face into her neck, sucking hard until he came, spurting into her again and again, emptying himself into her with a prayer that this would work.

They collapsed together on the bed, sweaty and panting. Morrigan felt stretched and aching, an unfamiliar feeling of sticky fullness and moisture trickling thickly out of her. Alistair drew her towards him, kissing her hair. For a moment she relaxed into him, basking in their mutual pleasure. Then she rolled off the bed and stood, pulling her robes back into place, looking at Alistair with a mix of fondness and suspicion.

“I will be leaving after the battle, Alistair. Do not attempt to look for me, or the child.”

With that she turned and walked out of the door without a backward glance. Alistair lay for a moment, thinking about what had just happened, smiling gently. Then he moved, washing himself and changing the stained and damp bed sheets. He lay back down and slept peacefully for the first time since Ostagar.


	14. After the Battle

They looked innocent. Wrapped around each other, sleeping like children who had tired themselves playing. Only the deathly pale of the mages face and the scarlet wound that travelled down the warrior's neck and disappeared under the light linen shirt told the truth. Anora watched them from the chair by the fire, her book lying forgotten in her lap, just watching them as they slept. 

\----------

Alistair had carried the mage back from Fort Drakon, refusing any help, ordering healers to attend to her and snarling at any who pointed out that their king was dripping blood on the carpet. Anora had grabbed a bowl and a rag and pulled him to the side. 

"Let them do their job, Alistair." Her tone cut through the chatter around the mage and he briefly looked at her before looking back to the unconscious woman on the bed. Her stomach twisted at the dismissal and her lips pursed to a thin line as she scrubbed what she could see of the wound. She gasped when the blood encrusted shirt came free, exposing a deep slash down his neck and across his chest. The edges were puffy, darkspawn blades carried their corruption, and a mage healer would be needed to cleanse it. She turned to call for one. The older woman who travelled with them, she would surely know what to do, but before she could say a word he clamped his hand like iron around her wrist pressing sensitive points that brought tears to her eyes. 

"No!" He didn't even deign to look at her, never took his eyes from his precious warden. She pulled her wrist from his grasp and walked from the room, serenity pulled around her like a cloak, years of practice allowing her to hide the pain. He had humiliated her by refusing to stay in the palace during the battle, piling vile accusations on top of her grief for her father, the man he had killed without a second thought before claiming her hand to legitimise his claim to the throne. He had reached the fort as the Archdemon fell and dragged the Warden from the ruins, unconscious, ensuring his guards did the same for the witch, the qunari and the archer. The slim possibility of finding acceptance in their marriage had completely disappeared so she walked calmly to her rooms and locked the door behind her before she lay down and wept for her husband, her father and for herself. 

Anora was sleeping when the knock came but years of training had her wide awake in seconds. She was still clothed, hair still firmly braided and pinned in place and a quick look in the mirror assured her she had slept long enough for the worst signs of her tears to have faded. Puffy eyes could be explained by sleep and no one could see the pounding headache although it felt like everyone should be able to hear it. The knock came again, harder this time. 

"Who is it?" she called, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. 

"It's Alistair. I've come to apologise." 

She frowned. She had absolutely no wish to look at him. But he would be her king, and her husband, and if the bruises on her wrist were a sign of his nature - as if seeing her father's head roll across the floor were not already - she would need to be careful to stay on his good side. 

“A minute.” She took a moment to gather her wits, she would need them to deal with the bastard, then moved gracefully to the door. When she opened it her eyes automatically went to the slice on his neck, now covered by bandages and smelling of elfroot. Then she forced herself to look up at his face. He was tall and broad and had already proved to be far stronger than she and although handsome enough she couldn’t help but search for his brother in his face. She stepped back to allow him in, wishing she could just bar the door instead, and he moved to sit behind her writing desk. At least he had kept as far from the bed as possible, she thought.

“I’m sorry, about your wrist. I hope I didn’t hurt you?” She just stared at him and stayed silent. “I shouldn’t have been so abrupt.”

Still only silence. Finally, he stood and moved to the door. When he reached it, he turned and looked at her.

“I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t want any of this, you probably don’t either. I was hoping we could talk, get to know each other.” He watched her, waiting for any response at all. Finally he said, “I’ll be in the infirmary. She can’t sleep alone, she gets nightmares. She’ll need someone with her when she wakes.”

“And of course it has to be the king, who is betrothed to another woman, who is there when she wakes?”

He jumped. He’d given up on any response and this one was full of spite. He looked at her, actually at her for the first time.

“Do you have a problem with that?” he asked quietly. She curled her lip.

“Why would I? I assume that you intend to install your mistress in the palace in any case. If you like I can assign her the rooms Cailan used for his women, there’s a convenient passageway to the kings chambers, to save her any embarrassment, of course.”

He actually had the affront to look insulted and for a moment she thought he would storm out. Expecting him to leave, she turned her back, walking to her armchair and her book, presuming the conversation was done. But when she sat and looked up, he was still there, a thoughtful look on his face. He walked over and sat in the opposite chair, the chair Cailan had once sat in and she now thought of as Erlina’s.

“Let me tell you a story.” he said, and he did.

\------

So here she was, watching her fiance sleeping with his arms around another woman. It was almost a week since the battle and the Warden still had not awoken. Of their mis-matched companions, only the mage, Wynne, remained. Anora and Alistair had come to an arrangement. From after supper until midnight he stayed with Annis to allow Wynne to rest from her vigil. Anora joined them, for the sake of appearances in more ways than one. Sometimes he fell asleep, exhausted from days of meetings with nobles, trying to learn kingship form Anora and planning the reconstruction of Denerim. At other times they talked, learning about each other. It wasn’t easy, they avoided many subjects, Cailan and her father foremost amongst them. She knew he blamed her for not working against her father, not taking the rumours and complaints seriously. She resented that for all the work she had put into holding the country together for the past 5 years, once again she was being married off and this time to a man she didn’t even know a month ago.

The mage started twitching, the first moves she had made in a week. Alistair woke immediately, holding her tightly as twitching became thrashing before she woke with a scream. For a moment she looked around, wild-eyed, before collapsing into Alistair’s arms, sobbing. Anora couldn’t make out the words, muffled by tears and Alistair’s chest, until Annis sat up suddenly and punched Alistair square in the jaw.

“You bastard! And that bitch, I’ll kill her! Why couldn’t you leave it alone? Why couldn’t you just let me go?” Her hands beat on his chest, harder and harder, until there was a crackle and a smell of ozone in the air, followed by a sudden… absence. She couldn’t explain it any other way. Then Alistair was holding the tiny woman in his arms, smoothing her hair and whispering nonsense as she cried her heart out and Anora could only look on in sympathy. Alistair had told her everything, swearing her to secrecy. She admired the Warden, few could have made the hard decisions as she had, even fewer would understand the things she had done to save them, no matter the cost to herself. They had a plan for her, a purpose but also a haven for her, and for her unique family, a family that was spread across the world but had promised before they left to return to her, and one which Alistair was determined that Anora would also belong to. She had her doubts, could not understand how such a thing worked, but it was the least they owed her. Once she was recovered, Warden Amell would be sent to Amaranthine, to Vigil’s Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being more of a romance than I anticipated, the characters grabbed it and went their own way. I hope you have enjoyed it. Annis' story is my first attempt at fan fiction, I think it went ok. Thanks for reading!


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